It was a day not unlike any other day, a day that started out with the usual, went on to the usually mundane, and progressed into the usually mundane boring sort of day one has when you’re not looking for anything fresh to do and nothing fresh presents itself, instead languishing while throwing an expensive pity party for itself, never bothering to develop into an unusually usual day. Yeah, it was a day just like that.
I had my trusty Agfa-Ansco Box Camera and a unused wad of film just waiting to be exposed to the usual-type of boring day’s work that got me laid off from the mill right before the stock market crashed and nobody had a dime to spare for a lousy cup of domestic brew without the sugar or the cream or the cups you could keep after you finished choking the muddy sludge down but before you wiped the inside semi-dry to pass along to the next broke bloke in the usual endless boring lines.
I started walking, not knowing where my feet would take me since my shoes had long ago stopped trying to influence any sort of directional abilities ten smelly toes and two pair of holey socks had when tracking a course towards the usual boredom of nothing unusual to shoot when I had film to burn and The Next Big Scoop when I was as pic-poor as a bill-less rooster in a vat of tomato paste stewing in Campbell’s bowl, soon to be passed down the soup line and then wiped semi-dry for the next sorry sods.
I staggered up to the shore of the Loch Cosumnes, batting away the mosquitoes that were eating better than half the town’s rats and humans alike while getting more nookie in their miserable 72-hour lives as well when I saw it. It was there, right there before my eyes and I couldn’t help but see it when it was presenting itself like that, in the most unusual of the usual ways something crazy can present itself. I fumbled with the door on the Agfa-Ansco Box Camera, dropping the preciously unexposed frames into the muck while pinching my hand inside the camera’s door when I bent over to grab Kodak’s gooey cellulite, retrieving it, saving it from the remainder of its virgin life simply being a slimy blur of unexposed potential failing to decompose anywhere nearly as fast as the hopes I had for a warm night in a dry bed under the usual ‘perfectly ruined’ tar shingles allowing me to gaze towards the stars who’d abandoned their usual bright outlooks for something less bright and usual without taking me with them.
I wiped the mud off the film with a muddy hand and cranked it into the camera for the shot that would make me famous, bring free food for the remainder of my usually usual boring life, and snatch me from the dreams of being a cub reporter for some bankrupt news-rag right up to the dreams of being a junior reporter for some bankrupt news-rag. I missed the right holes in the feed set-up but figured ‘who cares’ since this was the last roll of capture crap I’d have for who knows how long and wasting the muddy mess wasn’t exactly taking the rancid flavour of old tomato soup out of my mouth before my nose knew it was coming.
I looked down into the viewfinder and found IT again immediately, the Gigantic Loch Cosumnes River Sea Horse-Monster seemingly standing there like a bent stick in the mud of the Cosumnes Loch river, taunting me, teasing me to try to grab the image and run with it before it disappeared, forever lost to my wretched mortality while some snot-nosed punk kid discovered my discovery and tried to ride it, like the dumbass he was. I jammed down the button and it stuck halfway to the bed of its own wretched mortality, but ripping of three shots before the film tried to advance past the muddiest wad of mud trapped in the body of the camera like a legless goose in warm quicksand and failed to advance any more. But I had gotten IT with my trusty Agfa-Ansco Box Camera, the Gigantic Loch Cosumnes River Sea Horse-Monster, and IT was gonna be my ticket out of The Depression, The Recession, The Repression, and the Indigestion from my digressions, planting a seed firmly in the same old usual but semi-fertile sewage of everyone else’s Progression, to catch hold, creating Jack’s beanstalk for me to mount and become The NEWS Giant.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Some time later, careful analysis of the crummy picture verified that the Gigantic Loch Cosumnes River Sea Horse-Monster was indeed, just a stick in the mud.